


Skate Key

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Archie is a bit of a butthead, F/M, First Kiss, Innocence, Kids, but he's also a good guy, pre-high school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: Out of the blue, Betty starts kissing Jughead goodbye.





	1. 1.

When Jughead and Archie arrive at the skating rink, Betty’s already on the floor busting out some kind of disco moves. Jughead isn’t exactly a girl-watcher like his best pal, but he can’t deny Betty looks good in her shorts, knee socks, and ponytail. She sails over to the wall, bounces against the rim, and bursts out laughing.

“Hey Coop,” Jughead says. “Where’s your sequin halter?”

“Left it at home with my Bay City Roller pants.” She sneaks a look at Archie. “You guys want to join me for a few spins? Play tag?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Jughead hates the vague tone of Archie’s voice, because he knows what’s coming: Arch skates onto the rink, pulls a few smooth moves, and sidles over to another girl in a flippy skirt. Jughead’s been ditched, again. Worse, Betty’s wearing that bright, determined smile she slaps on her face whenever Archie disappoints her, which is all the time.

The place hasn’t filled up yet, but Jughead feels like a giant has poured a huge vat of sticky syrup inside the roller rink and he and Betty will drown if he doesn’t say anything. “I thought you mentioned tag a second ago?”

Too smart to let him see her disappointment, Betty doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re it, no givebacks.” One pink fingernail pokes his side, and Betty’s off on her custom skates, a present for her last birthday or something.

Jughead wears ancient green and brown rentals, but years spent on the streets in his old key skates gives him enough wherewithal to jump in after a certain snippy ponytail. He catches her, she tags him, he tags her back, and way too soon their hour’s up.

Archie’s on the carpet-covered seat, one arm around little missy’s waist. “Should we get some pizza? And should we…?” Betty’s voice trails off.

“No. I mean yeah,” Jughead answers. Yes to the first thing, no to the one she didn’t say.

#

Jughead walks her home with a full belly and a distinct lack of Andrews Junior, but it’s okay because he and Betty sing Bond film themes at the top of their lungs. Of course it leads to another chase, this one through Weatherbee’s yard and into her tree house.

She’s breathless and rosier than ever in the tiny room. “Thanks, Juggie,” she says, and leans forward.

He has a confused impression of lips on his, of peppermint and warmth, before she breaks away and pats his arm. “I better go work on some summer reading. See you tomorrow.”

#

The summer before high school might be his best one ever. Betty and Jughead go to fish at the river, watch the cheesiest horror films they can find at the Twilight (“Swamp Thing, Jug! We _have_ to go”) and hang out at the beach. She brings him with her family to watch fireworks and drags him to the library so he can get the required books for high school. They bicker over endless games of Monopoly and Mastermind and Consequences.

Archie spends June and most of July with the flippy-skirt girl, who shows up at the beach in a yellow bikini and heart-shaped sunglasses. Betty wears a blue one-piece and that same determined grin Jughead has learnt to dread. It gives him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he drank too many milkshakes.

And each time he walks her home or leaves for his messy trailer, she gives him a kiss. Each one is quicker than the shooting stars they watch from her back stoop.

Those kisses also make Jughead’s stomach hurt, but in a completely different way. He has no idea why she does it. They certainly aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. After all, he chases her with earthworms, and she threatened to feed him bug sandwiches as payback.

He gets into a long argument with Betty over the summer reading. She says Wuthering Heights is a good book, while Jughead believes Emily Bronte isn’t worth Bram Stoker’s toilet paper. They get to the “Is, Is Not, Is Too, Is Not” stage of their fight before she stalks off with her nose in the air.

The dust swirls on the road back to FP’s trailer. Sweat pools under his beanie. Jughead mutters a few curses and wonders, S _hould I run back? Swallow my dignity and say sorry?_

A flurry of footsteps, one hand on his shoulder.

Betty’s brief, peppermint kiss on his mouth, a bit longer than usual. “Is too,” she adds, and runs back the way she came.

#

Jughead’s deep in the middle of Heathcliff’s confession to Nelly when someone bangs on the door of the trailer, making the novel drop on the floor. He scrubs the tears off his cheeks with both sleeves. Betty can’t see him emoting over her book, she just can’t.

But it’s Archie, who’s arrived with big plans and a sack of burgers. “You, me, tent by the river. Tonight, whaddya say? And bug spray, Juggie, because we’ll get eaten alive otherwise.” He finishes with his usual grin, big eyebrows slightly raised as he waits for an answer.

“You ditched us all summer,” Jughead declares. 

Archie plops on FP’s old couch. “I know. I was such an idiot. Fiona was really pretty, though! Huge brown eyes, guess I just couldn’t say no to that girl.”

Jughead stashes Wuthering Heights under a pillow and wraps both hands around one knee. “Camping, huh? How about Betty? You ditched her too in case you forgot.”

Archie rocks back, as if he surprised. “Oh. I forgot about – I mean, her mom would never let her camp, but I guess she could come with us for a while. Maybe she’d bring hot dogs! Or remember those ‘smores she made us one year over a campfire?”

There was a time when Jughead would have enthusiastically joined in and planned to get Betty at the campsite to take advantage of her cooking skills. Hot dogs, after all, are not to be taken lightly.

But now it’s all different, since he’s tasted Betty as well as her ‘smores, and he tells Archie no way.

#

Their compromise is movies on Archie’s dime. Betty sits between the two boys, leaning forward to watch a fight scene. At one point Jughead feels something warm brush his shoulder and looks over to see Archie has snuck his arm around Betty. She seems oblivious, rapt on Kubo’s story.

Jughead slumps back in his seat with a scowl. He tries to lose himself once more in the movie, but his concentration is shot. Everything’s different. It’s all Archie’s fault, for ditching them in the first place, or perhaps it’s Betty’s fault for being so…Betty. She’s the one who's right about Gothic novels, who jokes with him about bugs and worms, who tastes like peppermint gum.

He can’t just _sit_ there next to Betty while Archie tries to make a move. “Hey,” Jughead snaps. “Popcorn.” He repeats it until Archie gives in and says he’ll be back with snacks.

Betty shifts closer. “You’ve tortured him enough over the Fiona thing,” she whispers. “I mean, no camping? Making him pay for our tickets _and_ snacks? Let it go, Juggie.”

“But…” He doesn’t know how to finish. Instead he asks her what she thinks of the movie, and when Archie returns with drinks and a huge bucket of buttered popcorn, Jughead concentrates on glorious movie theater food.

#

They walk home, and Jughead remembers why Archie is his best friend. The kid, after all, has a great sense of humor. He makes fun of himself going in for a first kiss with Fiona and having the family dog wedge its nose up his crotch instead.

“I mean, the thing was going to town, and I was all, nice doggie, get lost doggie but trying to be chill, you know?” Archie shakes his head. “It was pathetic.”

“At least it didn’t hump your leg,” Jughead comments.

“Au contraire. Her pooch saved that sweet move for later when I tried to say goodnight.”

Betty launches into an impression of Archie fending off a dog mid-flirtation, and their conversation devolves into a stupid game of push and chase. Jughead forgets all about the time until, before he knows it, they’re at her house and she’s saying goodbye.

“Bug hunting tomorrow, don’t forget!” sBetty yells at the top of her lungs. “Bye, boys!”

And then it hits him. No kiss.

“Hey,” Archie says. “Why so glum? I know I acted like a douche, but…”

Jughead raises a stern forefinger. “Douche?” he asks. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

“Okay.” Archie darts him a look. “I meant to say I went full Massengill on you and Betts.”

“And?”

“And I should be in a misty film of two girls talking spring fragrance versus vinegar and water as they walk on a beach, carrying their shoes.”

Jughead is starting to relent, but he can’t resist one final shot. “I have an old 8mm camera and Vaseline for the lens. We could make that happen.”

#

He only gets to the next block before he stops dead, full-body sighs, and turns around. The sun has started to slip over the horizon and Jughead will be late, but FP probably won’t notice.

Archie’s house is quiet. So is the Cooper place, except Jughead sees a ponytailed silhouette in an upstairs window. He finds a few pebbles and chucks one against the glass.

He’s about to throw another when Betty pops her head out. “Juggie? I thought you went home.”

“Meet me in the treehouse? Just for a minute?”

The silhouette says Okay and disappears. Heart pounding, Jughead dashes to the tree, climbs up the nailed slats, and slumps in one corner.

What is he going to say to her? _Oh, hi, Betty, and why didn’t you kiss me tonight like you usually do?_ It smacks of the worst kind of patriarchy.

Maybe he can sneak out, run home, and claim she must have dreamt his reappearance. Or he has a doppelganger who coincidentally threw rocks at her window. It could happen.

Jughead nods decisively, get up, and starts down the steps. Instantly someone pokes him in one butt cheek. “Move, silly,” Betty giggles. “I can’t get in if your skinny buns are in the way.”

There’s no other choice. He has to climb back up.

Betty hauls herself into the treehouse, plops on the old crate she’s covered with a towels, and kicks her heels against the box. For a long and dreadful moment, the two stare at each other in silence.

“Betty,” Jughead croaks. “Sorry. I. Just.”

She leans forward in that earnest way she has, as if every cell in her body is intent on what he says. “No, I’m sorry. I should never have kissed you without asking first. Gosh, I wanted to tell you that all day! But I never got a chance with Arch around.”

“Why did you?” The question bursts out of him, like Athena being born from Zeus’s head.

Betty crosses one leg over the other, settling in. “I just thought it was people did when they liked each other. Because they were friends. Let’s just say Wuthering Heights made it really clear there’s more to it than that.”

A twisted tangle in Jughead’s chest is starting to unravel. “Well, it wasn't awful,” he mutters. “Don’t have to stop. Especially just because Archie realized he’s a douche.”

“Oh, did you have the Masengill talk already? Wow, things move quickly in Riverdale.” She laughs, breathy and low. “And it had nothing to do with him. I like you, and I like being with you, and I was so silly, thinking that’s what people do. So dumb, right? I’m such a dumbo.”

He doesn’t wait to hear anymore. Jughead launches out of his slump and catches her mid-speech with a firm smooch on the corner of her mouth. He lets his eyes close and breathes in her mint gum before breaking away. “Bets, is this okay?”

“Oh.” Betty’s breathless. “Yes. Yes. It’s okay.”

“Maybe this is a kinda sorta thing we do now.” Jughead’s throat clicks since apparently his own body is trying to kill him.

“All right.” Betty puts her arms around his neck, and holy cow, they’re going to do it again. “This is what we do now.”


	2. 2.

The summer blazes out in fires of orange and gold. Jughead, Archie, and Betty track the river’s source and fail, attempt to catch fish and succeed although Betty’s tender heart means they throw the tiny trout back into the water. It seems to be an August filled with butterflies and wonder, perfect even when it rains. The three of the explore Betty’s attic in the middle of the downpour and pretend the rain is gunfire from evil henchmen.

Betty prods the boys to do their summer work. When Jughead and Archie finish with a lot of groans and complaints, she organizes a scavenger hunt with chocolate chip cookies at the end as a reward. They’re the kind with M&M’s on top. Jughead has never tasted anything so delicious, not counting the burgers she cooks up on her backyard grille.

There are slip-n-slides and sidewalk chalk and foursquare games. Jughead begins to write a continuing story heavily influenced by Kidnapped and the crime novels of Raymond Chandler. Each morning he races to meet Archie and Betty in her treehouse to read them the latest installment of Yo Ho Who Dun It.

And each moment when Archie's off with some new flame, Jughead sneaks in kisses. Lots of kisses.

He and Betty try experimenting: “There have to be different ways, right, Jug?” she grins. He blows raspberries against her cheek. She swoops him into an old-fashioned dip and pretends they’re locked in a passionate embrace straight from the movies complete with lots of sighs and Mmm’s. They practice a scene from Yo Ho Who Dun It, complete with a pirate hustling a wench against the wall, and argue who will play which role. In the end they take turns being the swashbuckler.

Those tiny moments like links on a beautiful chain hold him together when the arguments begin to ramp up between his parents. His mom asks him one morning, with tears in her eyes, not to eat lunch so she can afford food for Jellybean. His father disappears that night and stays out for two days straight.

Jughead navigates in a daze. He remembers Betty’s cheek, velvet against his, when FP returns, missing a shoe and the leatherette wallet Jellybean made him. And when their mom tells FP to get out and not come back, Jughead grabs his beanie and runs to find Betty.

#

“Pip pip, chum,” Betty chirps as soon as she sees him. Fruity expressions from Jeeves and Wooster are their current obsession. “Here, want a brownie?”

He stuffs it into his gob, moaning at the taste. Also, it’s the first thing he’s eaten all day. “What ho and all that, old bean,” he says around a huge mouthful.

“Got the latest chapter of Yo Ho?” Jughead shakes his head. It’s been impossible to write between his parents fights and accusations. “Never mind,” she adds. “We really need to prep for school anyway. Tomorrow’s the first of September, can you believe it?”

Jughead nearly chokes on the last of the brownie. “Already?”

“I know. Summer went fast. It was fun, though, right?”

“Best summer ever.” As soon as he says it, Jughead feels his cheeks grow warm. “You know, if you like that sort of thing.”

“I do like that sort of thing.” She pats the crate beside her pillow and, when he sits, leans on his thigh. “I’ll remember this one forever. The Season of Yo Ho and Jeeves.”

“And your cookies,” he agrees. “And camping, and fishing. And catching fireflies in a jar, and marshmallows on sticks over a real fire.” His heart thumps. “Also…”

Around them, the tiny treehouse creaks with its own soft sounds, as if it were alive. The leaves brush against one window, and the last of the starlings scold each other.

“Also what?” Betty sits up, and her brow wrinkles. “What, Juggie?”

He leans in and brushes his mouth over hers. Determined to make this one last, Jughead slips his fingers behind her head, just under her ponytail. They kiss long enough for him to say in his head,  _I really like you a lot, Betty Cooper._

When they part, Betty smiles. Her eyelashes flutter open, and she rubs her cheek against his old, beaten-up denim jacket. “Sad,” she murmurs. “It was the last summer of being a kid if you think about it. I’m going to miss all that.”

Floaty from the kiss, Jughead forgets to ask her what she meant until he’s halfway back to the trailer. An icy little knife stabs his heart as he wonders if their kisses will disappear like summer fireflies when autumn elbows its way in.

#

Maybe such a wonderful summer has to be paid for. The coin appears to be Jughead’s peace of mind. For one thing, they all move up to Riverdale High.

It wouldn’t be so bad, since he knows most of the kids. Plus, Archie and Betty are there. But a lot of the students have somehow grown over the summer. Reggie and Moose look like men, complete with five-o-clock shadows and bulging muscles. Jughead, considering his own skinny frame, can’t compete. Even Archie shoots up in what seems like overnight, burgeoning into an athlete. “What a hunk,” one girls sighs as Archie passes her in the hallway, getting a wink in response.

And it isn’t only the boys who have grown. Betty suddenly has curves, real curves, and she develops a following of her own. “You gonna hit that?” Reggie asks Archie one afternoon after a miserable PE session Jughead spent hiding in the bleachers.

“Betty?” Archie shakes his head in disbelief. “She’s my best friend, other than Juggie.”

“Then step aside and watch how it’s done.” Mantle stalks over to Betty like a lion approaching its prey, and all Jughead can do is glower from behind his laptop.

Betty says she's too busy for Reggie’s nonsense. She joins the Pep Club, the Service Now organization, becomes honorary secretary for the LGBTQIA group on-campus. She tutors ESL and gives tours to incoming students.

All of this means she doesn’t have much free time. She doesn’t go out with Mantle, thank God, but Jughead doesn’t get to see her much either.

And at night, arms under his head as he waits for the streetlamp near the trailer to finally, finally turn off so it won’t shine right into his eyes and he can get some sleep, Jughead stares at the ceiling and wonders. What did she mean when she said summer was over? That their childhood was over?

No more fishing? No more ‘smores?

No more kissing?

#

Betty sits with him and Archie at lunch, but she always has a meeting or event on tap. Jughead, after accepting half her sandwich, watches her chat with Archie. She smiles, laughs even, but there’s a new rigidity in the way she sits. Under the table, he sees, her hands are clenched.

He makes it his business to find out what’s happening. High school classes are ridiculously easy to ditch, and Jughead is more than happy to skip out of music. After all, he reasons, Grundy can’t teach him anything about the drums he doesn’t already know.

Skulking in the main office and around the teachers’ lounge, he starts to see how quickly people have come to depend on Betty. She organizes events and even embarks on a resurrection of the creaky old school newspaper.

Everyone wants a piece of her. No wonder she looks like she’s stretched thin. Jughead’s no different, wanting more from the generous girl who feeds him and prods him to get good grades.

When she asks him to join the Blue & Gold, he pretends to be reluctant. And when he finally agrees, she flushes with triumph and bites her lip. It’s a good day in the middle of a string of bad ones.

Jughead walks home, humming under his breath. Maybe he’ll actually do some homework and write another chapter of Yo Ho Who Dun It. He plans out a long sequence between the pirate and his sassy blond nemesis as he opens the door on the side of the trailer.

The place is clean for once. It’s also deserted.

A note on the cracked tv dinner table says his mom is gone, taking Jellybean with her.

#

After reading his mom's letter, Jughead blinks out of time. He comes back to reality, two days later, in math class. Apparently he’s going to fail the quarter unless he gets extra help. “I’ll call in your parents if things don’t improve,” Mr. Adams adds.

Betty is his go-to person, except Jughead can’t add to her load. He just can’t. Instead he approaches Ethel and asks her for help.

They meet at Pops’ twice a week, since Jughead doesn’t trust FP and Ethel says her house is crazy. She’s a quiet person, with a flair for explaining algebra. Jughead discovers her hidden streak of humor when he eyes up the burger special plate with longing. “Buy you any menu item if you finish these quadratics in 30 minutes,” she tells him.

He’s starting to think he might just survive after all when Archie blurts out, over lunch, that Betty’s dating Trev.

And after that he sees them everywhere: Trev at Betty’s locker with one arm propped against the wall, his hand on her trim waist, their heads together at assemblies. Jughead’s stomach flips in a slow death spiral when he stares bitterly at Trev, privileged to stand where Jughead can no longer be.

If it were Mantle, Jughead could hate him, but Trev is nice. Older, with a car. Kind. He seems to take care of her – carrying books, giving her rides home. Even though he wishes Trev lived on Mars, Jughead can’t help liking the guy.

When Jughead’s clothes get stolen after a PE class he’s forced to join, Trev’s the one who brings them back. “Sorry,” he says, handing over the limp pile. “Those dudes are idiots.”

He has the audacity to add a shy smile, making Jughead want to punch the walls.

#

That night, he calls his mom from a pay phone booth and begs to move in with her in Toledo. She tells him No.

There’s another wrinkle in time, and Jughead comes to in the library. He's in front of a flaming trashcan, and there are matches in his pocket.

#

“It’s just so stupid!” FP whacks the steering wheel and glares. “Starting a fire? In school? _Why?”_

“Oh, I can’t imagine,” Jughead drawls. “My life is peaches and cream.”

“But a _fire._ I could see getting into a fistfight or ditching school, but why flick a lit match into the trash?” FP pulls up violently in front of the trailer, still jabbering. “I never resorted to arson, even in my worst times. It would have taken a girl to…”

“Maybe it was a girl, Dad.” Jughead slams the truck door. “Maybe I was so passionate and hot-headed I felt I needed smoke. You know, to externalize the heat I felt inside.”

FP pauses in the act of unlocking the door and squints. “Is that what – Really? You? A girl? You like a girl?”

Jughead has probably been carrying his private torch for too long. “Betty,” he mumbles.

“Betty!” FP’s face splits in a sudden grin. “You like Betty, do you? Well, you got good taste, I’ll give you that. I never thought of you and girls, though.”

“Maybe I’d like girls if they were more like Betty.” Jughead collapses on the couch and waves away the beer FP holds out.

It’s a work day, which means FP has to get lost in the bowels of the Whyte Worm. Jughead says goodbye to his dad, looks around the trailer, and decides he might as well wash a few dishes. He could pack up some clothes for the Laundromat, while he’s at it, and make the bed, which is actually the sofa.

The floor is swept, the counters are clean, and Jughead’s sitting down to some much-needed homework when someone pounds on the door. He about to get up when it flies open and Betty blows inside with a swirl of wind.

She strides forward, fists his collar and glares. “I heard from Cheryl,” she hisses. “ _Cheryl._  You know how much it bites to get gossip about my friend from her? What the hell, Jug? Why would you do something so stupid? You could get kicked out! It’s going on your permanent record!”

“Oh no, not my  _permanent record_. And would it really be so bad if I were expelled?” Jughead closes his eyes so he won’t have to see her vivid, upturned face any longer. “I wouldn’t be around. You could be with – you know. All the time.”

“Hey!” She shakes him. “What do you mean? What are you talking about? Be with who?”

His eyes fly open, and she’s looking at him with a gaze so blue and broken it makes him furious. “That boyfriend of yours! Trev! And I can’t even hate him because he’s a nice guy, and it just makes everything worse…”

“But you’re dating Ethel.” Betty shakes her head. “And you didn’t even bother to tell me about it. I found out when I walked into Pops and saw you two in our booth.”

“Ethel?” The absurdity makes him even angrier. “She’s my math tutor.”

“I always helped you with homework! What, I’m no good any more? Do I smell? I take showers and brush my teeth every day, I’ll have you know.”

He puts his hand over her mouth. “Everyone wants a piece of you. It’s only October, and already Riverdale High can’t run properly if you’re not around. Think I don’t see how tired you get? Think I’m going to add to that?” Betty shuts up, and cautiously Jughead removes his hand. His mom’s old Streamline clock hums in the kitchen, and outside the trailer a few far-off kids yell at each other about a lost basketball. “Are you mad at me?” he finally adds.

She purses her lips. “No. Well, yes, I was. But now I’m not. Maybe. Because you just said the nicest thing I ever heard. But you’re also a dumbass.”

“I’m a dumbass,” Jughead repeats. “Uh, why’s that again? Other than the usual reasons?”

“Because you are my best friend and my top priority.” Betty flaps one hand at a host of imaginary people. “I’ve helped out office staff, and teachers, and teachers’ aides, and the Mayor’s office, but they can all get lost if you need help.” Her gaze slides sideways and becomes thoughtful. “Speaking of which, what’s going on in here?”

He swivels his head to look around the trailer. FP has left a pair of muddy boots on the stove, actually inside a frying pan. There’s a huge note written with ketchup tacked up on the fridge: DO NOT FORGET TO SLEEP, FORSYTHE. The fruit bowl is filled with rusty sprockets. “I did clean up.” Jughead considers the boots, which have iron spikes around the ankles. “Maybe I need to do a little more dusting.”

“Jughead, where is your mom?” The question drops like a smashed vase between them. He rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Don’t you dare head me off with some polite bullshit,” Betty adds. “We’re falling apart, you and me, because we forgot how to talk to each other. Well, that ends now.”

“She left.” Jughead clears his throat. “Took Jellybean with her.”

Saying it aloud makes it real. He has to turn aside, pretend to be wiping something off his face with his sleeve, except the next second Betty’s all up in his grill. She wraps her arms around his midriff and butts her head into his neck.

It’s very satisfactory, but it's also a punch in the gut. “Glad we remembered how to use words,” he gasps, “almost like real homo sapiens.”

Orange light from the sunset filters into through the crooked blinds and highlights her skin, making Betty appear like a heroine on the cover of an old novel. He really wants to kiss her. In fact, Jughead doesn’t realize he’s leaning in until he feels her breath. They’re sharing air, he thinks, and the idea gives him a serious buzz.

“Juggie,” she whispers. “Technically I’m still dating Trev. I can’t.”

“Oh.” Lucky Trev, to have such a faithful girl.

“But I might not be dating him tomorrow,” Betty adds.

“Oh!”

Betty’s arms slip around his neck. “Summer was good. Great, even. I’m just saying autumn can be good too.”

“Yeah.” He’s blinded by a sudden idea. “Betts, we did a lot of kissing. Remember?”

She giggles. “Not likely to forget.”

Jughead dares to sneak closer. “Maybe we could try a Not-Kiss. You know, until tomorrow comes with your romantic freedom.”

“A Not-Kiss, huh?” Her head tips to one side. “You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Jughead brushes her nose with his. Their lips are apart, but he can feel a thrum from her. A sparkle. It’s intoxicating, that’s what it is, and he wonders why anyone bothers with liquor when they could have this. Betty is perfume and silk and home, all in one person, and when she whispers his name he actually feels the universe spin around him.

“Wow,” she gasps. “Wow, Juggie.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Wow. That was the best Not-kiss I ever had.”

**Author's Note:**

> In the middle of crafting Southside, this drabble grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let go. I'm afraid there's a second chapter as well.


End file.
